


Positive Thinking

by Orinoco_II



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Jack's future past, M/M, Undercover Ianto, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-14 13:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15390018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orinoco_II/pseuds/Orinoco_II
Summary: A serial rapist is stalking the streets of Cardiff and Jack's having flashbacks.  Meanwhile, Ianto's going undercover - as a temp.





	1. Chapter 1

Somewhere, distantly, perhaps a few streets over, there was Irish folk music playing. The strains of a reeling fiddle came floating across the rooftops. Julie wasn’t sure why she noticed this, of all things, tonight, but she did. Perhaps it was a newfound awareness of the world around her. She’d been walking around in a numb fog for months and finally, miraculously, it had lifted.

Her heels clipped loudly down the empty pavement. It was late for her to be leaving work but for once it didn’t seem to matter. It had been raining earlier but now the stars were out and there was a chill in the air. The tarmac shone wet under the streetlights. She was noticing everything now.

Beth picked up halfway through the second ring. “What’s wrong?”

Julie laughed. “Nothing.”

Beth sounded suspicious. “You never ring for nothing.”

“Ok, it’s not nothing,” Julie admitted, still smiling. “I have news.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good. Very good.” She wove between the railings at the entrance to the underpass. “I had my first session today,” she explained. “And it’s…it’s like somebody’s switched something in my head. I can’t explain it.” She sighed happily. “I mean, right now, I don’t even care about Josh and Lucinda. Isn’t that great?”

“Yeah,” Beth said slowly. “I guess. You’ve really only had one session?”

“Yeah, I know, it’s incredible!” There was a tell-tale beeping in Julie’s ear. “Look, I’d better go, my battery’s about to die. We’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, ok,” Beth agreed, her voice still sceptical.

Julie hung up and slid her mobile back into her bag. The cars on the ring road rumbled overhead and the lights at the far end of the tunnel had been smashed in again. In her new alert state she picked up the footsteps quicker than she might have done before. Glancing over her shoulder, she could make out a figure - a shadowy outline under the harsh neon lighting - walking steadily towards her.

Her heartbeat quickened. She’d walked this way home every night for the last three years. She must have met people in this underpass before, even if she’d been so lost in herself that she hadn’t noticed. There was no reason that this person shouldn’t just be a late worker, hurrying home, like herself. Nevertheless, she walked a little faster.

The footsteps came closer and closer until the figure drew alongside her. She risked a sideways glance and relaxed when she saw who it was. “Oh, it’s you,” she smiled. “What are you doing here?”

*

Ianto’s skin was very smooth; especially this part of his shoulder. In another situation, Jack might not have been able to stop himself from doing unspeakable things to said shoulder but as it was, he was in team medic mode and Gwen was watching. Jack banished all indecent thoughts from his mind and instead concentrated on the needle and surgical thread that he was currently pulling through that smooth skin.

Ianto sat unflinching on the edge of the autopsy table with his shirt only half off to preserve his dignity. He’d changed out of the torn one and bled through another before admitting that his wound might need more than just a plaster. Gwen sat on the steps with her chin on one hand, the other resting gingerly in her lap.

Jack pulled the last stitch through and tied up the thread in a rough approximation of the knot pictured in the book currently open beside him. “There we are,” he announced, standing back and scrutinising his handiwork with a frown.

Ianto craned his head round comically to try and view the stitches. He looked at Gwen with a pained expression. “I look like Frankenstein’s monster, don’t I?” he asked.

“You look fine,” Gwen assured him.

Ianto’s eyebrows only briefly flickered upwards but Jack chose to ignore them. Jack didn’t think it was too bad for only his second attempt at stitches. And the last time his patient had been unconscious so, all in all, he was pretty pleased. Ianto pulled his shirt back on and started to button it up.

Jack gathered up the scraps of thread. “And next time,” he warned Ianto. “Try to remember which is the business end of a li’xi’cot.”

“Will do,” Ianto replied. He jumped down from the table, grabbed his tie from where it was hanging over some equipment and started to tie it. All packaged back up inside his suit in no time at all.

Jack removed his gloves and dumped them in the bin. At least now he was remembering to change gloves between patients without being nagged. “Next.”

Gwen approached and sat on the table, holding her left hand awkwardly.

“Two broken fingers,” Jack announced, reading the scanner results. He broke open the packaging on a crepe bandage. “You’ll live.” He started to wind the bandage around her fingers.

“This would be much easier if we had a doctor,” Gwen observed.

“I know,” Jack agreed. “But we can’t exactly just go down to A&E and grab someone.”

“I’m not saying that,” Gwen said. “What about Claire?” Dr Claire Turner was the unwitting pathologist who had stumbled into their investigations a couple of months ago. She'd ended up helping them out after a number of Cardiff citizens turned into giant mosquitoes. The last time Gwen had seen her had been when Jack had sent her to retcon Torchwood from Claire's memory. Gwen had left Claire's house with the pills still in her pocket.

“She’s a pathologist, not a doctor,” Jack said.

“She has medical training.”

“I’ll look into it,” Jack said.

“She saved Rhys’ life,” Gwen reminded him. “Remember him?”

“Of course,” Jack said. “I am extremely fond of Rhys. I think Rhys is wonderful.” He finished bandaging up Gwen’s hand. “Want me to kiss it better?”

Gwen snatched her hand back. “No thank you.” She jumped down from the table. “I am going home to see my wonderful husband.” She trotted up the autopsy bay steps. “Night Ianto.”

“Night Gwen.”

Her footsteps clanged away into the distance and a moment later the alarm on the cog door sounded. Jack grinned at Ianto who shook his head with an eye roll and disappeared off into the Hub. Jack gave a small snort of laughter as he packed everything haphazardly back into the First Aid Kit. There would be plenty of time to find Ianto later.

*

Gwen juggled the carrier bag of takeaway between the bandaged fingers of her left hand as she squeezed her buzzing phone out of her pocket. A familiar face was flashing on the screen and she smiled.

“I’ve got the chicken jalfrezi,” she told Rhys by way of greeting when she picked up.

“My favourite,” Rhys replied. Gwen could practically hear his stomach rumbling down the phone.

“Yes, I know that, dumbo, that’s why I bought it.”

Rhys snorted. “Dumbo?”

“I love you really,” Gwen assured him with a laugh. “I’ll be home in ten minutes.”

Gwen hung up and slid her phone into her back pocket. She swung the bag of takeaway back and forth as she hunted through her pockets for her car keys, wafting jalfrezi fumes up her nose as she did so, reminding her that it had been a long time since that snatched sandwich between callouts seven hours ago. Her fingers had just closed around her keys when she heard the scream.

Instinct kicked in and before she knew it the jalfrezi was splattered on the pavement and she was running towards the scream, gun out as she raced into the underpass.

Gwen’s eyes scanned the vicinity for signs of danger as she rushed towards the body of a young woman slumped awkwardly on the ground. The woman’s eyes were glassy; lifeless. Gwen had seen enough dead bodies in her time to know when they were beyond hope.

A noise and a tiny flicker of movement in the corner of her eye had Gwen on high alert again. Her fingers closed around her gun as she stood and turned 360 degrees.

She spotted it. A shadowy figure running off down the street.

“Hey!” Gwen yelled. “Stop!”

She chased off after the figure. It took a sharp turn off the main street and into a side street between the off-licence and the takeaway. Gwen skidded round the corner, just in time to see the figure take a flying leap, inhumanly high, over a wall and onto the roof a nearby house. Gwen was left to simply watch in amazement as the figure bounded away across the rooftops and out of sight.

Returning to the underpass, she found a man standing over the body, on his mobile.

“Yeah, police please,” he was saying, his voice stuttering and breathy. “I’ve just found a dead body.”

Gwen looked down at the corpse, thinking about the figure on the rooftops. She took out her phone and dialled. “Jack, yeah, it’s me,” she said. “I’ve just seen something really weird. I’m by the underpass, near the Rani Maj Takeaway.”

“I’m on my way."

*

Gwen stood back by the tape as the police crawled over the crime scene. The man who had called the police was sitting on the back of an ambulance with a paramedic, a blanket wrapped around him and his face a shade or two paler than even the average Welshman. A shiver shuddered through her and she told herself it was the cold night, not the dead body. At the sound of a car engine, Gwen turned and saw a familiar lilac Daihatsu smoking up the road. It juddered to a stop and Dr Claire Turner emerged, wrestled her equipment out of the boot and headed over.

She saw Gwen and beamed. “Gwen!”

Gwen shifted uncomfortably. “Claire. Good to see you.”

Claire dumped her case on the ground. “This one of Torchwood’s cases then?”

“Could be.”

“Brilliant!”

Gwen wasn’t sure it was so brilliant but Claire was still grinning.

A police officer approached. “Dr Turner?”

“Yes.”

“Body’s all yours.”

“Thanks.” He walked away as Claire opened her case and pulled out a protective suit. “Best get to it then.”

“She hasn’t been dead long,” Gwen told her. “I heard her scream. But she was dead by the time I arrived.”

Claire hopped about with one leg in the suit, trying and failing to appear dignified. “Did you see the killer?” she puffed.

Gwen shook her head. “Didn’t really get a look at him. Or her.”

After more hopping and grunting, Claire finally managed to squeeze herself into the white suit, though not without twice catching her cardigan in the zip. She ducked under the tape and crouched down beside the body, frowning. Gwen followed her.

“My first thought would be sexual assault.”

“Why’s that?”

Claire snapped on a pair of surgical gloves. She lifted the woman’s skirt and revealed the bloody mess where her genitals had once been.

Gwen winced. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Claire agreed. She lowered the skirt. “As to the exact cause of death, I’m not sure.” She examined Julie’s neck. “Doesn’t look like she was strangled. No sign of any head trauma.”

The side road leading to the underpass was quiet at this time of night yet the silence was suddenly shattered by a roaring engine and bright lights headed their way. The SUV screeched to a halt and Gwen noted the eye rolls from the officers on the scene. Jack and Ianto stepped out, impeccably turned out as always, slammed the doors shut and marched over to the body.

Claire looked up at them and smiled. “Jack, Ianto, hi,” she greeted them. Gwen’s heart sunk.

“Dr Turner,” Jack replied cagily. “What a surprise.” He glanced at Gwen and she looked away guiltily. “You seem to remember us.”

“Not likely to forget, was I?” Claire laughed.

Jack was still staring at Gwen who shifted uncomfortably. “No, no,” he agreed. “We’re pretty unforgettable.”

Gwen saw Ianto roll his eyes. She had meant to tell Jack about the whole not-retconning-Claire-when-he’d-specifically-asked-her-to thing but, somehow, she hadn’t found the right moment. Eventually, Jack let her off the hook and turned his attention to the body.

“What happened here?” Jack asked.

Gwen cleared her throat. “I was round the corner over there.” She pointed. “Heard a scream and came running. She was already dead. Claire thinks she was raped. Anyway, I saw a figure running off. In that direction.”

“So it’s a standard rape and murder,” Jack said. “Why are we getting involved?”

“Because the figure I chased got away by jumping over the rooftops,” Gwen told him.

“Jumping over the rooftops?” Jack repeated.

“Yeah.” Gwen pointed to the roofline, stretching off into the distant night sky. “Literally jumped up there, straight from the ground.”

“Parkour enthusiast?” Ianto suggested.

“Which direction?” Jack asked.

Gwen pointed. “That way.”

“Ok.” Jack strode off. “Gwen with me, Ianto stay here.”

He walked off and Gwen followed him into the same back street that she had run into earlier. They were confronted by the same dead end, blocked by a high brick wall.

Jack pointed up at it. “And he just jumped up there?”

“Or she,” Gwen said. “Couldn’t really tell. But yeah, they just leapt up there and onto the roof, one stride, no problem.”

“Hmm.” Jack stood with his hands behind his back and squinted up at the sloping grey rooves. “And the girl was raped?”

“Claire seems to think so,” Gwen said. “She’s not sure about a cause of death yet though.”

“Claire seems to have remarkably clear memories of us.”

“I — yeah.” Gwen sighed. The game was up. “I didn’t retcon her,” Gwen admitted.

“That’s funny.” Jack swivelled round to glare at Gwen. “‘Cause I asked you to.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But...she’s a useful ally Jack.”

“We’ll see.” He turned and walked back towards the crime scene.

Back at the underpass, Claire was still crouched over the body examining it whilst Ianto scanned the area with his PDA.

“There’s a build-up of residual Rift energy around the body,” Ianto told them, reading from the screen.

“Have we got a cause of death yet?” Jack asked.

Claire shook her head. “Only thing I can think of is some kind of internal injury. Possibly caused by penetration with a foreign object.” She gestured to the woman’s genitals. “I’ll need to do an autopsy though, to be sure.”

Jack looked over Claire's shoulder, down at the corpse, and froze in horror.

_Night time. An alleyway. A body lying in the street. Blood. Flashing lights. Watching officers in silver uniforms crawling over the scene. The muffled roar of the city fading away._

Gwen caught Jack’s expression. “What is it Jack?” she asked. “Have you seen this before?”

Jack blinked his horrified expression away and ignored her question. “Claire, let us know what you find from the autopsy,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t you want me to do the autopsy at the Hub?” Claire asked.

“Not necessary,” Jack said, marching towards the SUV. “Just let us know the results.”

“Jack?” Gwen called after him irritably.

Ianto frowned, shrugged and put away his PDA. With an obedience that drove Gwen crazy, he headed over to the SUV and got in. Clenching an unconscious fist against her mouth, Gwen took a deep breath before shrugging apologetically at Claire and following him.

No one spoke as they drove back to the Hub. Eventually, Gwen broke and leant forward to push her head between the front seats. “What was that all about Jack?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he replied quickly.

“I saw the look on your face when you looked at the body,” Gwen pushed. “Did you know her?”

“Leave it Gwen,” Jack warned.

“But Jack…”

“Leave it,” Jack repeated firmly.

Gwen looked to Ianto for help but he just stared down at his hands in his lap. Gwen glared angrily at the back of Jack's head and then turned to watch the city lights flash past outside. She was sick to the back teeth of Jack's Man of Mystery Act. Or maybe he was just punishing her for not retconning Claire and then lying about it. The awkward silence was broken by her mobile ringing.

“Rhys, hi,” she answered.

“Where the hell are you?” Rhys asked. “I’ve been trying your mobile for ages. You said you’d be home an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Gwen told him. “Something came up at work.”

“Of course it did,” Rhys sighed. “It always does. I’ve been looking forward to that jalfrezi.”

“Oh. Shit.” Gwen remembered.

Rhys sighed again, more heavily. “I’ll heat myself up a ready meal than shall I?”

“Um, yeah, might be for the best,” Gwen confessed.

“When are you coming home?”

“I’m not sure. Might be a late one. Don’t wait up.”

“Right. I’ll see you in the morning then.” He hung up before she could get in a goodbye.

“You should head home,” Jack told her as he pulled into the underground car park. “Not much more we can do tonight.”

“I don’t mind…” Gwen began.

“No. Really,” Jack said. “Go home.”

“Oh,” she said.

“What?” Jack asked.

“My car’s back at the scene.”

Jack parked the SUV and switched off the engine. He looked across at Ianto who sighed resignedly.

“I’ll give you a lift back,” Ianto offered. “It’s on my way.”

They clambered out of the SUV, the slamming doors echoing around the near empty car park. Jack strode straight through the back door to the Hub without another word. Ianto said nothing as he unlocked his car, the side lights flashing cheerfully. Gwen gritted her teeth as she got in. Jack Harkness could be so bloody infuriating.

*

The living room lights were still on when Claire pulled up outside her house. She heaved herself out of the car, locked it from the passenger side because the driver’s door lock didn’t work and dragged herself yawning up the short front path.

“Only me!” she called as she shut the front door behind her and hung up her coat. “What you still doing up?”

There was no reply. In the living room, she found Tim sitting on the sofa, chewing on his finger. He looked up at her, his round face folded into unusual lines of worry. She felt her chest tighten instantly; a hand around her heart.

“Tim? What’s wrong?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing tautly in his throat. “We need to talk.”

“That sounds ominous.” She sat down on the sofa beside him, sinking into the sagging cushions. “What’s going on?”

“Uh…” He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. “I’ve — I’ve been an idiot.”

“In what way?” Another woman, her mind supplied. Doubts from her teenage years resurfacing in an instant. Not with Tim, she’d always laughed. We’re solid. But she should have known. She could never be enough. She’d been working such long hours — he would have had so many opportunities. All those job interviews he’d dressed up for — had they been real? A photo parade of possible candidates swam before her eyes: Paula, who he’d kept in touch with from Uni; the woman at the corner shop she’d teased him for flirting with; his advisor from the Job Centre.

“I’ve been gambling,” he said and her brain screeched to halt.

She stared at him for a moment, banishing the reel of women, and almost laughed at the relief. “What?”

“I’ve been gambling,” Tim repeated. “Online poker. And I’ve sort of — got addicted.”

“Oh Tim,” Claire sighed.

“I’ve lost a lot of money.” He rubbed a hand over his stubble. She hated the stubble. He’d never let himself grow stubble when they’d first met. “So I’ve taken out some loans. But I can’t pay them back.”

“Oh Jesus Tim.”

“I know, I know.” He sunk his chin onto his fists, elbows resting on his knees. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. We tell each other everything, she’d boasted to her friends, who had sighed and envied her blissfully honest relationship with Tim. They weren’t perfect, but they were happy. That’s what she’d told herself - and them. Why hadn’t she spotted this?

“I thought I could win it back,” he told her. “And you’d never have to know. But I just kept — losing.”

“How much?”

“Thousands,” he admitted. Then, with a small hitch in his voice, “Tens of thousands.”

“We don’t have tens of thousands,” she pointed out shakily.

“I know.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We’re not married.” Tim’s voice was shaking. “So, I suppose it doesn’t have to affect you. But — I might not be able to keep up my mortgage payments. Or pay any bills.”

“No,” Claire said firmly. This was the one thing she believed about her and Tim and she was going to stick to it.

“What?” Tim twisted his head to look at her, his face still strangely pale.

“We said we didn’t need a piece of paper,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to stand by you, ok? We’ll get through this.”

“How?”

“I’ve got some savings,” Claire told him. “Not much but it’s a start. And we can sell some stuff on eBay.” She looked around at the piles of DVDs and video games scattered around the living room. “We’ve got loads of junk lying around.”

“Claire…” Tim murmured.

She put her arms around him, stroked the scratchy stubble that she hated and pulled his head against her. “We’ll be fine, ok? I love you.” He didn’t reply. She kissed the top of his head and pushed her nose into his dark, shaggy hair that curled over the collar of his faded t-shirt. “We’ll be fine,” she repeated, quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

Gwen sat in her usual seat at the table in the board room, listening to the familiar humming and whirring of the Hub and, not for the first time, wondering why she bothered to come up here in time for the ten o’clock team meeting. It seemed to be a compulsion. Maybe it was a hangover from her time in the police when tardiness for briefings was severely frowned upon. But since there were only three team members at present and she know for a fact that one of them was still busy by the coffee machine, she probably could have stayed at her desk trawling through the latest rift activity reports for a little longer.

After a few moments of daydreaming, Jack walked in and plonked himself down at the head of the table. He was shortly followed by Ianto, who was carrying a tray of drinks with the skill of an experienced waiter. Perhaps he had been a waiter in a past life. Gwen made a mental note to quiz Ianto on his past employment at the next appropriate moment. He struck her as the sort to have had an eclectic and surprising mix of part-time jobs before he joined Torchwood.

“Ok, so last night, case review,” Jack began. “What have we got?”

Ianto handed Jack his coffee cup. “Her name was Julie Graves,” he told them. “She was 28.” He put down a cup in front of Gwen. “Worked as a waitress in a restaurant in the Old Brewery Quarter.” He put the tray to one side and sat down opposite Gwen with his own cup. “She was on her way home from work and according to her mobile records she had just finished a phone call when Gwen heard her scream.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully, wrapping his hands around his mug. “Any word from Claire’s autopsy?”

Gwen shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Ok.” Jack turned to his right. “Ianto — give her a call. See where she is with it.”

“I could call her,” Gwen suggested, before Ianto could respond. “I mean…”

“No,” Jack said firmly. “Ianto will call her. Also, Ianto, see if you can pull up any CCTV footage from the scene. See if we can take a look at this high jumping rapist.”

“Will do.” Ianto scribbled a few notes on the spiral-bound pad in front of him.

“Good.” Jack took a sip of his coffee. “Anything else to report?”

Ianto shook his head.

“There is one thing,” Gwen began awkwardly, knowing what Jack’s response was likely to be.

“Yeah?”

“I had a call from Andy,” Gwen told them.

Jack and Ianto exchanged a look and smirked. Gwen sighed. Sometimes the pair of them could be insufferable, especially when it came to Andy, who had actually proved himself to be invaluable on more than one occasion now.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Jack said quickly.

She looked at Ianto, daring him to make one of his sarcastic comments but he only shrugged and picked up his coffee. She looked back at Jack.

“Go on,” he said.

“His flatmate,” Gwen explained. “She’s just started therapy for depression. He says she got better immediately - first session, no drugs.”

“And he think it’s alien?”

“He thinks it could be.”

“Maybe something else changed,” Ianto suggested. “Maybe she met someone or got a promotion?”

“No,” Gwen said. “Andy said nothing else changed. He saw her in the morning before she went, said she was barely motivated enough to go, then that evening, she was on top of the world. And she has been ever since.”

“And he wants us to check it out?” Jack asked.

“I don’t mind having a little look into it,” Gwen said.

Jack relented, still with a hint of a smirk. “Fine. But don’t waste too much time on it.” He glanced between his two employees. “Anything else?” Both Gwen and Ianto shook their heads. “Great.” Jack planted his hands on the table and stood up. “Good meeting guys, let’s get to work.”

*

Gwen checked the address Andy had given her again and scanned the names and numbers listed against the buzzers on the door of the Edwardian townhouse. A postman was delivering down the street but otherwise the place was quiet, as she would have expected mid-morning on a weekday during term time. She rang the buzzer for the ground floor flat.

Andy flung the front door open a few seconds later. He looked briefly pleased to see her and then reverted to defensiveness. “Oh aye, you came then.”

Andy led Gwen into the flat. The place was incredibly neat and tidy but not in the weirdly unlived-in way that Ianto’s flat was. There was attractive artwork on the walls, small nick-nacks and ornaments on the shelves and a vase of flowers on the hall table. The three piece suite in the living room was piled high with floral cushions and there was a fluffy pink rug on the floor. Gwen looked around with raised eyebrows. She realised she’d never given any thought to where Andy might live. For all she knew, he might have lived with his mother. But she would never have imagined him living somewhere like this.

“Cup of tea?” Andy offered.

“Wouldn’t say no.”

She followed him into the kitchen, still looking round in amazement. The fridge was covered in photographs of people Gwen had never met, though she recognised Andy in a few of them. Andy put the kettle on and took down two mugs from a mug tree on the well-organised surface. Gwen was about to enquire further about his domestic arrangements when a blonde woman came bounding into the room.

“Good morning!” she greeted them brightly.

“Oh, you’re up then?” Andy remarked.

“I’ve been up for hours,” she replied. “Went for a jog before breakfast and I’ve been sorting out my CV.” She turned to Gwen. “You must be Gwen. Andy’s told me all about you.”

Gwen caught Andy’s blush out of the corner of her eye. “All good things I hope?” Gwen said, choosing not to tease him about it this time.

“Well…”

“We’re not really here to talk about that,” Andy interrupted. “This is Cara.”

“I still don’t know why you’re worried,” Cara told him. “I’m happy now.”

“I just wanted Gwen to talk to you,” Andy explained. “She deals with this kind of thing.”

“You’re a psychiatrist?” Cara asked.

“Sort of,” Gwen said as Andy handed her a cup of tea.

“Well, I don’t know what else I can really tell you,” Cara said. “I had one session with my therapist and I’ve been feeling on top of the world since. He’s a miracle-worker if you ask me.”

“What sort of therapy did he give you?” Gwen asked.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Cara said. “But it wasn’t drugs.”

“You talked things through?”

Cara thought about this. “It’s hard to describe. It was…like…” She trailed off, confused. “I can’t remember. I can’t remember. I just…felt so much better. It was like all the bad feelings had just…gone. And it was all over so quickly. It felt like we’d hardly started when the receptionist came in and my appointment was over.”

“What’s the name of your therapist?” Gwen asked.

“Dr Chaney,” Cara told her. “He works at the Community Mental Health place down the road.”

“Was there anything odd about him?”

Cara shook her head. “No. He was…nice.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, it was lovely to meet you Gwen.” Cara jumped up. “You won’t think I’m rude if I dash off, will you? It’s just I’m meeting a friend for lunch in town. I honestly don’t think there’s anything more I can tell you. Andy’s such a little worry wart.” She ruffled Andy’s hair. “I’d think you’d be pleased, you don’t have to look after me anymore.”

She punched Andy lightly on the shoulder and waltzed out. Andy looked after her with a despondent expression. He turned to Gwen. “See? You’re telling me that’s not spooky?”

“Oh, Andy,” Gwen teased.

“What?” he asked defensively.

“Have you tried asking her out?” Gwen asked.

Andy flushed even redder than before. “She’s not interested.”

“How do you know if you don’t ask?”

“That’s not the point,” Andy deferred, avoiding eye contact with Gwen. “Are you going to look into this Chaney guy?”

“I’m not sure it’s really a Torchwood case.”

“You said that last time I came to you with a case,” Andy reminded her.

Gwen stared down into her tea as she considered it. “Alright, fine. I’ll look into it. Ask a few questions. Nothing major. We’re a bit a thin on the ground.” She put her teacup on the surface and walked towards the door.

“About that…” Andy began.

“Andy, I really should get going.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll let you know if I find anything,” Gwen told him.

Andy opened the front door for her. “Thanks.”

“Ask her out,” Gwen called over her shoulder as she jogged down the front steps. She heard the door slam shut behind her and smiled to herself.

*

Ianto blinked and rubbed his eyes. He paused the footage and looked away across the Hub, trying to focus on a point in the distance. It had always been Tosh scolding him about staring at the screen too long. ‘Stop and focus on something far away every twenty minutes,’ she had always told him. She had never followed her own guidance, of course, but like every nugget of advice Tosh had ever dispensed, Ianto had always followed it to the letter.

He started up the CCTV footage and began watching again. In the corner of the screen, only shadows and the occasional flailing limb betrayed what was taking place. After a few minutes, a figure with its back to the camera appeared in shot. In one shot the figure turned, in the next it was halfway down the alley and in the next it had disappeared. Ianto stopped the footage and rewound it.

“Jack!” he yelled without looking away from the screen.

“What?” Jack’s reply floated across from somewhere else in the Hub.

“Come and look at this,” Ianto shouted back.

After a moment, Ianto heard Jack’s footsteps approaching from the direction of the autopsy bay. “What?”

“Look.” Ianto pointed to the screen and pressed play. Again the shadowy figure turned, bounded down the alleyway and disappeared.

“Can you zoom in?” Jack asked, standing behind Ianto and leaning over him, no sense of personal space. Not that Ianto was complaining. Gwen was out investigating Andy’s call so Ianto leant back against him.

“I’ll try.” He rewound, paused and zoomed in but the image was very blurry. “Whatever it is,” Ianto explained. “It’s moving fast. This camera records a frame every second but it’s still only in two of them before it’s gone.”

Ianto waited for Jack to respond but he said nothing. Ianto turned his head to find Jack staring thoughtfully at the screen. Ianto was momentarily distracted by the proximity of Jack’s jawline but he shook himself back to professionalism. Gwen or no Gwen, however tempting, it simply wasn’t practical to spend the whole working day shagging the boss. There was a planet to defend, after all.

“So?” he prompted.

Jack shrugged, stood up straight and gave Ianto’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “It’s something. But not enough yet.”

“Right.”

Jack turned and wandered off across the Hub. Ianto watched him for a moment, then turned back to his computer, saved the footage to the case folder and picked up his phone to call Claire again.

*

The doors to the Community Mental Health Centre slid open silently as Gwen approached. It was strangely quiet inside; just a few people in the waiting area flicking through magazines or staring vacantly into space. She crossed over to the reception desk where a woman was leaning and looking through a file.

“Excuse me.” Gwen put on her best Friendly Cop smile. “I’m wondering if you can help? I’m looking for Dr Chaney?”

The woman looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Mr Miracle Worker?” she said with disdain. “I haven’t seen him. These ladies might know of his elusive whereabouts.” She looked at the file again and turned to a woman behind the desk. “You’ll have to call Mr Phillips and tell him he’s missed his slot again and if he wants to make another appointment there’s a 3 month waiting list.” She threw the file onto the desk and stalked off down the corridor.

Gwen smiled at the two women behind the desk. Both were overweight with sour faces, welded to their swivel chairs and mugs of tea and glaring at her as though she’d come from hell to ruin their day. “Hello,” she greeted them as cheerfully as she could. “Do you happen to know where I could find Dr Chaney?”

“He doesn’t work Tuesdays,” one of the women stated frostily and turned back to her computer screen.

“Oh, right. What days does he work?”

The woman slowly swivelled back round to face her. “Are you a patient?”

“No, no,” Gwen said. “I’m with the police. We’re making some enquiries and we think Dr Chaney might be able to help us.”

The woman appeared unmoved by this. “He should be in tomorrow.”

“Could I leave a message for him?” Gwen asked.

She sighed heavily. “I’m snowed under here.”

The phone rang, its volume accentuated in the eerie quiet of the reception area. “Oh, for God’s sake!” the second woman snapped at it. She snatched up the receiver. “Hello, Grangetown Community Health, how can I help?” There was a pause as she listened. “And are you feeling suicidal?” she asked emotionlessly.

Gwen smiled as a thought occurred to her. She leant conspiratorially over the desk towards the first woman. “Bet you could use another pair of hands, couldn’t you?”

*

No matter how many crime scenes she attended, no matter how many briefings she was given and case files she looked over, no matter how many gruesome alien attacks she witnessed, a part of Gwen would never get over the stark horror of autopsy photographs. Ashen grey corpses laid out, tagged and labelled, the black scars of dissection criss-crossing their skin and their wounds decaying. She looked across at Ianto, who was fiddling with the laser pointer, and to Jack, who was nursing his coffee. Did they feel the same way?

Ianto flicked to the next image. “Cause of death — massive internal trauma,” he reported.

“Do I wanna know what the weapon was?” Jack asked with a grimace.

“She couldn’t say for certain,” Ianto replied. “Something long and hard.”

“Don’t you dare make a joke Jack,” Gwen warned.

“Wouldn’t dare.” Jack raised one hand in weak protest. “So — other than the Rift activity, it looks like a standard sex attack?”

“Plus the fact that the rapist can jump over rooftops,” Ianto reminded him.

“Plus that,” Jack agreed.

“What’s the next step?” Gwen asked.

“You were in the police,” Jack said. “What would be your first step in an investigation?”

“DNA testing,” Gwen suggested. “Interview friends and family. The majority of murders are committed by someone known to the victim.”

“Ok,” Jack said. “I’m promoting you to Senior Investigating Officer.”

“Because you find the procedural stuff boring?” Gwen enquired.

Jack shrugged. “I’m more of a chasing aliens kinda guy.”

“So it would seem,” Gwen agreed.

Jack consulted the piece of paper in front of him. “AOB?” he read sceptically.

Gwen picked up the agenda and read it — there were only three items, including apologies, which Jack had skipped, for obvious reasons.

“You made agendas?” Gwen asked Ianto.

Ianto shrugged, sipping at his coffee. “Something I’m trialling.”

“I feel that in the absence of Owen it’s my job to tell you that you are weird and anal,” Gwen informed him.

“Something Jack never complains about,” Ianto said calmly, looking at Gwen defiantly over the rim of his mug.

“Remember that conversation we had last week about oversharing?” Gwen reminded Ianto playfully.

“You brought it up,” Ianto shot back.

Jack cleared his throat pointedly. “AOB?”

Gwen looked away from Ianto’s teasing expression and dragged herself back to the matter at hand. “I went to see Andy’s flatmate.”

Jack grinned at Ianto and Ianto rolled his eyes.

“Don’t think I didn’t see those looks,” Gwen said, pointing at them accusatively. “It could be something. She had one session with this guy and felt miraculously better but doesn’t remember anything that happened. I went down to the Mental Health place and I think there’s something going on.”

“It’s not much to go on,” Jack observed.

“Call it a hunch,” Gwen said.

“Can I just call it a waste of manpower?” Jack asked.

“Come on, Jack,” Gwen pleaded. “Two or three days digging around. If we find nothing, I’ll let it go, I promise.”

Jack seemed sceptical but she was certain he had learnt his lesson about arguing with her over dropping cases. “What’s your plan?”

“Someone goes in as an undercover admin temp,” Gwen proposed. “They’re short staffed and everyone knows that the admin always know everything.”

“You volunteering?” Jack asked.

“Well, no,” Gwen said. “I mean, I don’t have any admin experience…”

They both turned to look at Ianto who was drinking his coffee and consulting his agenda. He swallowed his mouthful, looked at them with a resigned expression and sighed heavily.

*

“Calm down, would you?” Mairie implored, following Marcus out of the club, pushing through the crowd of smokers huddled around the door.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Marcus yelled. “You fucking slept with him!”

The couple earned themselves amused glances from the bouncers who had seen it all before.

“It was months ago!” Mairie protested.

“Like that makes a difference!” Marcus started to walk away. His mam had been right - older women were bad news. A slight drizzle was beginning to float down.

“Where are you going?” Mairie asked.

“Home!”

“Ah, Marcus, wait,” she called, jogging up to him. “I’ll call you a taxi.”

Marcus pushed her away. “I can call me own fucking taxi. Piss off.”

Mairie threw her hands up in the air. “Fine, be like that.”

She wandered off back into the club and her crowd of bitchy mates. The thumping music wafted out through the door as it opened and then swung shut behind her. Marcus walked unsteadily off up the road, realising now that he was on the move just how much he had had to drink.

Round the corner, out of sight of the club, his stubbornness began to fade. He should have let Mairie call him a taxi. He’d left his coat in the cloakroom and the fine rain was soaking through his thin t-shirt. He hugged his freezing bare arms around his torso and stumbled on. He wasn’t even sure he was heading in the right direction for home. Wasn’t there a taxi rank round her somewhere? Or was that in the other direction, further towards town?

Marcus passed under a street light and stopped to look at his phone. The screen blurred. Christ, he had drunk too much. And what had he been fighting with Mairie about, anyway? Well, if she really loved him, she would have followed him and not gone back into the club, so he was probably better off without her anyway. He tripped over a recycling box on the pavement, tipping it over and sending a stream of empty jars and bottles rolling over the uneven slabs and into the road. The sound echoed around the quiet street.

When the glass had stopped rolling, he thought he could hear footsteps. He turned around. There was nobody there. The street was in darkness, not a light on in any of the houses.

He walked on, trying to quicken his pace. He heard footsteps again. Perhaps Mairie had come after him, after all? He looked round and saw a figure standing on the other side of the street. It wasn’t Mairie. The figure was too short to be Mairie and, on closer inspection, he was pretty certain it was a man.

It’s just someone else walking home from a night out, that’s all, he told himself. Nothing to worry about. God, if only he wasn’t so drunk, he could run. He attempted to jog and his hip bumped into a wheelie bin on the pavement. The man crossed over the road.

*

Claire cursed Cardiff’s one-way system as she drove the same loop round the residential area for the third time that night. Her SatNav was insisting that she had reached her destination, but the road name didn’t match the address that the duty officer had given her on the phone. The windscreen wipers scraped painfully at the light drizzle, not seeming to be able to find an appropriate interval to cope with the generic dampness of a Cardiff September. Claire peered out at the road names. The trouble with the ones in Welsh was that they all had too many consonants and she couldn’t tell them apart.

“Llanbelddian Gardens!” She spotted it at last and swung into the turning, wondering how she could have missed the flashing blue lights and neon emergency vehicles on her previous two trips around the block. Parking up, she struggled into her white suit and headed over to the body, flashing her police ID for the benefit of the cold, wet miserable-looking sergeant on duty by the cordon.

A young man was splayed out on the pavement. Even from three feet away, Claire could see the blissful expression on his face, despite the blood dried around his mouth. His jeans were bunched around his thighs and covered in blood.

“Called in by one of the residents,” the officer explained, gesturing to the nearby houses. “Looks like a standard rape and murder to me,” he observed.

Claire tried to reign in her disgust. “Shall we have a closer look before jumping to conclusions?”

He shrugged disinterestedly and lifted the tape for her to go through.

Claire knelt beside the body. Tentatively, she gently lifted the body with a gloved finger. Exactly as she had expected. She stood up and took out her mobile phone.

“Gwen, it’s Claire,” she said. “I’ve got another case I think you might need to have a look at.”

*

Ten minutes later, the SUV screeched up the street. When they stepped out, Gwen could sense the collective eye-rolling and muttering of the assembled emergency services. At first, she had been sensitive about it but now she didn’t let it bother her. They walked over the meet Claire at the body.

“I won’t be able to say for certain until I’ve done the autopsy,” Claire told them. “But it looks like the same cause of the death as the previous one."

Jack came to an abrupt halt stared at the corpse, chest rising and falling unnaturally.

_A body, lying in the street. Desperate to get through but held back by the police. He pleads - cries - but they hold fast. He has to get through. He has to._

“Jack?” Gwen dragged him back to the present. “Jack?”

Jack blinked and looked at her, his eyes wide and wild.

“What’s wrong?” Gwen asked.

“Nothing,” Jack said quickly, looking away. “You can clean up here, right?” He strode away before she could answer.

“Jack?!” Gwen called after him.

Jack did not look back. Rounding the corner at the end of the road, he disappeared from sight. Gwen turned to find Ianto gazing after Jack with concern. He caught Gwen observing him and quickly refocused his attention on the scanner in his hands.

Gwen turned to Claire. “You’ll let us know the autopsy results?”

“Of course."

“Thanks.” Gwen walked over to join Ianto. “Anything?”

Ianto shrugged. “Same as before.”

“What’s wrong with Jack?” Gwen asked quietly.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Ianto admitted.

Gwen looked around at the crime scene. “Claire’s going to call us when she’s done the autopsy. Not much else we can do here.” She smiled and nudged him in the ribs. “And you have an early start in the morning.”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

They walked back towards the SUV. There was no sign of Jack. Gwen automatically climbed into the driving seat and Ianto got in beside her. She glanced across at his impassive face. When Jack kept secrets from her, it was frustrating as hell but what must it be like for Ianto? He had to know more about Jack than she did but Jack’s enigmatic bullshit must drive him nuts sometimes. Ianto gave her one of his small, tight smiles, which she returned as she started the engine and pulled away.


	3. Chapter 3

Ianto’s shoes sunk into the soft but tatty carpet in the reception area of Grangetown Community Mental Health Centre. Behind the desk, a woman rather more collapsed in her chair than sitting in it, clamped a phone to her ear whilst she wrote slowly on a form in front of her.

“Are you feeling suicidal at the moment?” she asked monotonously.

Ianto waited patiently as another woman arrived with a cup of tea. She glanced briefly at him, ignored him and sat down. He cleared his throat politely. The woman looked up and glared at him.

“Yes?” she snapped.

“Hello,” Ianto greeted her, wheeling out his best please-the-in-laws smile. “I’m Ianto Jones. Your new temp.”

The woman gaped at him in amazement. “You’re the temp?”

“Yes.” Ianto kept up the bright smile. “Hello.”

“He’s the temp,” she told the other woman, who had just hung up, pointing at Ianto.

Her face cracked unnervingly into a smile. “Pleasure to meet you.” She heaved herself out of her seat and offered a hand over the desk.

Ianto shook it. “Ianto,” he introduced himself.

“Ianto,” she repeated breathily. “Lovely name. I’m Brenda, this is Carol. Let me show you around.”

After an extensive tour of the centre, including a commentary on the relative merits of everyone who worked in the building, where most employees seemed to fit into one of two categories (“bit of a character” or “got to watch them”), they came to a door at the end of the corridor, next to the fire escape. Brenda opened the door and flicked on the light, revealing a virtually empty office. An archaic-looking PC sat on the desk, a nondescript blue chair squatted behind it and filing cabinets lined the walls.

“This is you,” Brenda announced. She pointed to the filing cabinets. “Discharge files. They all need to go onto there.” She tapped the computer. “How’s your typing?”

“88 wpm.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Impressive.”

“Thank you,” Ianto demurred.

Brenda handed him a bright pink post-it note. “Here’s your log-in. Any questions, we’re just down the hall.”

“Brilliant, thanks.”

She paused in the doorway. “Looking forward to working with you Ianto.”

Ianto treated her to another of his smiles. “Likewise.”

She smiled back, gave what Ianto assumed was supposed to be a flirtatious laugh and waddled off down the corridor. He quietly shut the door and sat down behind his new computer at his new desk. Sticking the post-it to the bottom of his monitor, he started to login.

*

Two hours into the job and Ianto was already getting the measure of the place. He’d temped for the NHS before, back in his student days. Not that he would have admitted that to Gwen. Back then, he’d been in the gastroenterology department. Mental health files, it turned out, were unsurprisingly a little juicier. If he’d had the time, he could have written a novel. Even with his superior typing skills, however, it would take forever to get all the notes typed up on the system. Especially since both Brenda and Carol and half the therapists seemed to keep finding more files to add to his list.

Striding down the corridor with Carol’s latest finds stacked up in his arms, he nearly collided with a short, stocky man hurrying in the opposite direction. Ianto neatly sidestepped to avoid him.

“Sorry,” Ianto called cheerfully.

The man stopped dead and turned his head slowly in Ianto’s direction. “Who are you?” he enquired frostily. His features were angular and his eyes intense. 

“Ianto. Ianto Jones. I’m the new temp.” Ianto inclined his chin down towards the pile of files in his arms. “Going through the discharge files.”

“I see.”

The man was wearing an old-fashioned tweed suit with a woollen pullover and checked tie. With his hair slicked back, he looked too young for his style choices. He didn’t introduce himself but walked on and let himself into an office. Ianto quietly continued down the corridor and stood in front of the door that the man had disappeared through. The name plate declared it to be the office of Doctor Aneurin Chaney.

*

“Coffee ladies,” Ianto announced as he waltzed into the reception area carrying two steaming mugs.

“Oh, Ianto, you’re a sweetheart,” Carol told him as he put one mug down by her elbow. There were pictures of cats all over her desk. No children. Ianto noticed these things. He wondered if she knew she was a cliché.

“No problem,” he replied, handing the other mug to Brenda.

Brenda took a sip and gave a deep sigh. “You can stay.”

“I aim to please,” Ianto smiled and turned to walk back to his office. Door closed, he settled down behind his desk and pulled the pile of files on the desk towards him. Though no one would know and, if challenged, he would call it a coincidence, they were all files of patients discharged by Doctor Chaney.

*

Jack tilted his head and stared at the board in front of him. Beside him, Gwen was making a face which suggested she was stumped but not willing to admit it. It looked a little like she had smelt something nasty. She had rigged up the board to make links between the murder cases. So far, it contained photos of the two victims, a few details about their lives and very little else.

“So,” Jack observed. “No links so far?”

“Early days,” Gwen suggested positively.

“Any links at all?”

“They’re both human. They both live in Cardiff.”

“I think you’ve cracked it.”

Gwen sighed. “I’m going to see the next of kin this afternoon.”

“Keep me posted.” Jack’s phone rang in his pocket, echoing loudly around the Hub. He pulled it out and answered it. “Ianto. Hi.” He put him on speaker phone. “How’s it going?”

“I’m the hit of the office,” Ianto’s voice came drily out of the speaker.

“I can believe that,” Jack said.

“Have you met Doctor Chaney yet?” Gwen asked.

“Met him in the corridor earlier,” Ianto told them. “Not the friendliest of guys.”

“Anything else?” Gwen pushed.

“I’ve been going through his discharge files,” Ianto said. “There’s a lot of them, considering he’s only been here a few months. Most of his patients discharged after one or two appointments. I can’t find anyone who had more than two appointments with him.”

“Keep gathering info,” Jack told him. “We need something more concrete to go on.”

“Looks like you’ll be temping for a bit longer Ianto,” Gwen teased.

“I could get used to this,” Ianto retorted. “I’m having a lunch break.”

“Don’t get too used to it,” Jack laughed as he hung up. He turned to Gwen with what he hoped was a dazzling smile. “Speaking of lunch?”

She snorted and wandered off across the Hub. “Get it yourself,” she called over her shoulder.

*

There were two men carrying the dresser Claire had inherited from her grandmother down the front path. Claire locked her car and watched them load it into a white van parked badly across the neighbour’s driveway. She marched into the house and found Tim loitering nervously in the hallway.

“What the hell is going on?” Claire demanded.

“They’re repossessing some stuff,” Tim explained hesitantly.

“I can see that,” she snapped. “Why?”

Tim swallowed, staring at the bannisters, twisting his fingers in and out of the varnished wood. “I owe the bank a lot of money,” he admitted finally.

“I paid that off,” Claire reminded him. “With my savings.”

Tim took a deep, shaky breath. “I owed more than I said I did.”

“Oh Jesus Christ, Tim.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I thought I could use the money you gave me to win back the rest of it.”

His words took a moment to sink in and when they did, Claire felt the rage swelling inside her. “You gambled the money I gave you?!” she yelled.

“Not all of it,” Tim mumbled.

“I am so angry with you right now,” Claire hissed. She stomped into the living room and sunk down on the sofa.

Tim followed her and continued to lurk awkwardly. “You have every right to be,” he told her.

“Don’t even…don’t speak to me,” she snapped.

One of the bailiffs barged back into the living room and waved a clipboard under Tim’s nose. “Sign here.”

Tim took the form and signed it with trembling hands.

“Cheers mate.” The bailiff took the clipboard back and left, shutting the front door loudly behind him. Tim quietly lowered himself into the armchair. They both stared at their hands and sat in silence as the bailiff’s van sputtered into life and roared off down the road.

*

Bella Jenkins was making good time. Her playlist was timed so she knew that when she got to the end of _Walking on Sunshine_ , she needed to be at the bench where the path curved away to the left and started downhill again. Today, she had already passed the bench before the track ended. She was breathing heavily but she was feeling good. _Final Countdown_ would come on soon and she’d know she was on the home straight. She passed under a streetlight and began the darkest stretch of her run, where the trees closed overhead and created a tunnel so that even the bright lights of the city outside the park couldn’t penetrate. She’d nearly tripped over a dog many times on this stretch.

Even in the darkness, she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. Before she had a chance to react, a figure lurched out of the trees and grabbed her. Bella screamed as the man tried to drag her off the path. She struggled against him and screamed again. Surely there had to be someone around to hear her. It wasn’t that late.

The man had hold of her biceps and was pinning her against the ground. Her headphones had fallen out but she could hear the tinny synths of the _Final Countdown_. His hands were scrabbling at the waistband of her running shorts. She felt the ground cold against her backside and knew what would happen next.

“Hey! What’s going on?”

The man froze. Bella turned her head and heard snuffling by her ear. She smelt dog and saw the flashing light on the animal’s colour. A figure in high vis waved a torch in her direction.

Suddenly, the weight lifted and the man was on his feet. He shot off into the trees.

The dog walker knelt down beside her. “You ok?” he asked. The light from his phone lit up his face eerily in the dark. Bella heard the distant ringing from the phone, the music still floating out from her headphones and the snuffling of the dog in the bushes nearby. Lying there on the cold damp ground, she felt strangely peaceful.

“Yeah, I need an ambulance,” the man said when the operator picked up.

*

A young and enthusiastic nurse showed Gwen to Bella Jenkins’ hospital bed. Bella lay there, propped up on the pillows, flicking through a magazine. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and was still dressed in her lycra running gear.

“Hi,” Gwen greeted her as she sat down beside the bed.

Bella lay the magazine down across her thighs. “Are you police?” she asked.

“Sort of,” Gwen nodded.

“I already spoke to the police,” Bella told her.

“Just need to ask a few more questions,” Gwen explained.

Bella seemed sceptical. “Ok.”

“What can you tell me about what happened?” Gwen asked.

“Same as I told the others.” Bella shrugged. “I was jogging. A man came out of the bushes and tried to rape me. Another man disturbed him and he ran off.”

“What did he look like?”

“It was dark,” Bella said. “I couldn’t really see his face.”

“What did he try to rape you with?” Gwen asked.

Bella raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“So it wasn’t with an — object of some kind?”

“Not that I noticed.”

“And when he ran off — how did he run?”

Bella looked confused. “How did he run?” she repeated.

“I know, it seems like a strange question,” Gwen admitted. “But it could be important.”

“Sorry, I didn’t see,” Bella said. “He just disappeared into the bushes.”

“Ok, well, thanks.” Gwen gave Bella a friendly smile and stood up to leave.

“There was one thing,” Bella said, halfway to picking up her magazine again.

“What’s that?”

“I wasn’t scared,” Bella revealed.

“What?”

“I mean, I was,” she continued. “When he jumped on me. I was terrified. And then, when he started to rape me — I wasn’t scared anymore.”

“What did that feel like?”

“Peaceful. It was — so strange.” She looked at Gwen. “I guess I need to see a psychologist.”

“That wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Gwen acknowledged, patting her arm sympathetically. “Thank you for your time.”

*

It was late and the Hub was quiet. It was dark outside Jack's office, with just the low lights of the Rift Manipulator creating rippled patterns on the walls.   
Jack sat at his desk flipping through the autopsy photos that Gwen had left for him. Those injuries… He closed his eyes, suddenly blindsided...

_Her body, lying in the street. Torn flesh, blood everywhere._

Jack forced his eyes open. He stared at the wall of his office, the muscles in his cheek pulsing as he clenched his jaw violently, trying to picture something — anything — else. He thought he had buried those memories years ago.


	4. Chapter 4

There was an almost reverent silence as Gwen entered the reception area of the Community Mental Health Centre and approached the desk. The sole patient was flipping through a copy of _Glamour _magazine whilst she waited. Gwen wondered at the wisdom of providing such reading material for people with self-esteem issues. She leant over the formica top of the desk. The two large ladies she had encountered previously did not even look up from their computers.__

__“Hello,” she said. “I’m looking for Ianto Jones?”_ _

__One of them looked up and stared at her blankly. “Ianto?”_ _

__“Yes,” Gwen said. “We’re meeting for lunch.”_ _

__She sighed heavily and reluctantly picked up the phone. “Ianto love. There’s a woman here for you.”_ _

__Gwen waited awkwardly whilst the women eyed her suspiciously. She tried smiling but they weren’t having any of it. Turning away in the end, she looked out through the windows at the trees in the car park. Their leaves were turning gorgeous shades of red and orange and brown._ _

__After several uncomfortable minutes, Ianto appeared from down the corridor. “Honey!” He greeted a surprised Gwen with a kiss. “Brenda, Carol – this is my girlfriend. Gwen.” They maintained their bitter glares at her. “I’ll show you my office.” He grabbed her hand and led her round the corner._ _

__When they were out of sight, Gwen turned to him with an enquiring expression. “That was a bit…”_ _

__“Sorry.” Ianto pulled an apologetic face. “Had to make it convincing.”_ _

__Gwen shrugged nonchalantly. “It wasn’t unpleasant.”_ _

__“Watch it,” Ianto teased. “I’m spoken for.” He winked at her as he opened the door to his office. When they were inside with the door firmly closed behind them, he gestured to the filing cabinets. “Those are the files.”_ _

__He sat down behind his desk, looking remarkably comfortable in this strangely mundane environment. The identikit health service office was about as far removed from his workstation at the Hub as it was possible to get. Gwen removed the scanner from her bag and attached it to the first filing cabinet._ _

__She grinned at Ianto relaxing in his chair. “You’re King of your own little world here, aren’t you?”_ _

__“It’s because I have my own office,” Ianto said. “I don’t have an office at Torchwood.” He picked up a hole punch. “I’ve got my own hole punch.”_ _

__“Then you’ve really made it.”_ _

__“I really have,” Ianto agreed, unable to stop himself smiling as Gwen removed the scanner. “Got them all?” he asked._ _

__She consulted her PDA, watching the loading bar slide rapidly across the screen. It reached the end and the screen flashed. “Yep.” She put the scanner back in her bag. “Best go. See you later – _honey _.”_ _ __

__

__

__Ianto wagged his finger. “You’d better watch out. You’ll give Jack ideas.”_ _

__“Oh, like he hasn’t already had those ideas,” Gwen retorted over her shoulder as she opened the door. Laughing, she closed the door on Ianto’s unimpressed face._ _

__*_ _

__Gwen sat back and rolled her shoulders. She’d been scrolling through the files she had scanned in Ianto’s office for well over an hour now. Her eyes were sore and she needed to pee but she felt as though if she moved away she would miss something._ _

__If Tosh were here, Gwen had no doubt that she would have found a more efficient way to search the files but Gwen didn’t trust her own technical abilities enough. So she had plumped for the old-fashioned method of using her eyes._ _

__As she scrolled mechanically down, something connected in her brain. She paused and scrolled back up. She recognised that name._ _

__Julie Graves._ _

__Where did she know it from? Her computer-numbed brain took a few seconds to connect the dots. Of course – the first victim of their high-jumping rapist._ _

__Finally, she had a lead. All bladder-related concerns out of the window, Gwen stood up and grabbed her jacket._ _

__*_ _

__The street outside Chaney’s flat was quiet. There was a Co-op at the other end of the street and Gwen could see people going in and out but at this end no one had walked past her car in the last half an hour. Chaney lived at Number 5 which was a first floor flat. Gwen had calculated which window was his. The light was on._ _

__Gwen sighed and leant back in her seat. Should she be spending all this time on a hunch? What if Chaney spent the whole evening at home? How long should she give it before she gave up? At the same time, she reasoned, there had to be a link between Julie Graves and the rapist. And where better to start than with her therapist, the man who discharged all his patients after one appointment? Or was she just clutching at straws?_ _

__Just as she was thinking about leaving, the light went out. A few moments later, Chaney appeared through the doorway and ambled off down the street. Gwen quietly stepped out of her car and followed him._ _

__Though his gait looked casual, he was moving quickly and Gwen had to half jog to keep up. Incongruously, he was wearing a trilby and using a large golfing umbrella like a walking stick despite there being no sign of rain._ _

__At the end of the road, he disappeared into the Co-op. Gwen waited irritably outside in the shadows. Five minutes later, Chaney emerged with a bottle of wine and set off back up the road. Gwen followed with a sneaking suspicion that Chaney might just be the dullest man in Cardiff. He returned to his building and a minute later the light flicked back on._ _

__Gwen lingered despondently under the cover of a parked van on the opposite side of the street for a few moments more but instinctively she knew that Chaney was not coming out again tonight. He was either too clever or too innocent for her to catch him._ _

__*_ _

__Entering the Hub from the underground car park, Gwen heard voices around the corner. There was every chance that Jack and Ianto were still working. After all, it was only nine thirty and this was Torchwood. Still, she'd interrupted one too many compromising clinches not to take the precaution of pausing and listening._ _

__“Tell me,” Ianto was wheedling._ _

__“What makes you think I know?” she heard Jack reply._ _

__“You told me you did,” came Ianto’s response._ _

__“Maybe I was joking.”_ _

__She peered around the corner and saw Jack on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table. Ianto was lying with his head in Jack’s lap, his socked feet up on the arm of the sofa and his hands folded across his chest._ _

__“Three thousand more years of physics,” Ianto continued. “They must know what dark matter is.”_ _

__Jack grinned down at him, one hand stroking gently through Ianto’s hair. “Yeah, but I didn’t pay attention in class.”_ _

__“Yeah right,” Ianto retorted._ _

__“No really,” Jack protested. “I’m kinda dumb.”_ _

__Somehow this felt more intimate than their usual sexual hijinks. Despite her curiosity, Gwen felt a sudden compulsion to make her presence known._ _

__“Hey,” she greeted them as she stepped into view._ _

__Ianto immediately turned bright red, sat upright and slid his feet into his shoes in one fluid movement._ _

__Jack smiled but didn’t move. “What can we do for you Gwen?” he asked._ _

__“I’ve just been to Chaney’s place,” Gwen told them, perching herself on the edge of the cluttered coffee table._ _

__“Why?” Jack asked._ _

__“I was going through the files,” she explained. “And Julie Graves – the first girl - was one of his patients.”_ _

__Jack raised an enquiring eyebrow. “And?”_ _

__“He went to the Co-op to buy wine and then he went home again.”_ _

__“Juicy,” Ianto remarked dryly._ _

__“It could just be a coincidence,” Gwen admitted._ _

__“The guy’s had a lot of patients,” Ianto reminded her. “It’s not unlikely that it could be a coincidence.”_ _

__“You’re right.” Gwen sighed. “I was just clutching at straws. Trying to make a breakthrough.”_ _

__“Let Ianto investigate Chaney,” Jack said. “You stick to the rapes, ok?”_ _

__“Ok,” Gwen agreed. There was an awkward silence and Gwen realised that Jack and Ianto were looking at her expectantly. Oh._ _

__“I should go,” she said, standing up quickly and heading for the door._ _

__“Hey!” Jack called after her. “Next time you go staking out a suspect, you might want to tell someone. For back up. Rookie mistake, copper.”_ _

__Gwen shook her head. “Yes boss.”_ _

__*_ _

__The streetlights lining Luckhurst Close were joined by the spinning blue of the squad car lights as police and SOCOs picked over the taped-off crime scene. A familiar black SUV came to a halt alongside them, its front bumper just shy of the blue and white incident tape. Jack and Gwen climbed out just as Claire stepped from her rusting Daihatsu._ _

__“Apparently this is my thing now,” Claire greeted them._ _

__“Lucky you,” Gwen commiserated._ _

__Walking towards the body, Gwen’s heart began to pound as she saw first the small feet in scuffed, muddy pumps, then the thin legs. Gradually, more of the body became revealed to her. She felt sick, as though she finally, truly, after everything she had seen, both with the police and with Torchwood, understood the meaning of the word horror. This wasn’t a woman: this was a girl. Her mousy brown hair in a plait and her features unblemished._ _

__“Bloody hell,” she murmured without thinking._ _

__“Oh my God,” Claire breathed._ _

__Jack said nothing. Gwen looked across to clock his reaction but he was distracted, looking away, that same distance in his eyes that she had observed the other night. He glanced at the body and then strode off in the opposite direction._ _

__“Jack?!” Gwen called after him. “Jack?!” She threw her hands up in despair._ _

__Claire watched him go with amusement. To her, Jack’s enigma act was entertaining. She didn’t have to work with the unfathomable bastard. Claire crouched down beside the body and got to work._ _

__Gwen squatted down beside her. “How old do you think she is?”_ _

__“Sixteen? Seventeen?” Claire guessed._ _

__“Christ,” Gwen muttered. She felt tears well up and blinked them away, scrubbing at her hands with her eyes. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry.” She stood up and walked away. No doubt Claire was looking at her with the same level of bewilderment that she had directed at Jack._ _

__*_ _

__When she let herself into the flat, Gwen was greeted by the sight of Rhys asleep on the sofa with the TV on. He’d left her a plate of what looked like his famous lasagne on the table. Wiping her eyes, Gwen put it in the microwave, letting the hum of the oven cocoon her as she watched it go round and round, zoning out the babbling of the television in the background as she tried to push the image of the murder scene from her mind._ _

__The microwave pinged. Opening a drawer, Gwen fumbled for a knife and fork but ended up dropping them. They landed together and bounced across the linoleum with a clang. Rhys woke with a startled grunt and sat up, rubbing at his eyes._ _

__“Hello love,” Rhys greeted her, coughing the sleep from his voice. “Didn’t hear you come in.” He heaved himself up off the sofa and came into the kitchen area._ _

__“You were out for the count,” Gwen observed._ _

__“Tough day.”_ _

__“Right.” Gwen pulled up a chair at the table and half-heartedly stabbed at her dinner._ _

__“What’s up?” Rhys asked._ _

__“Oh, you know.” Gwen gave a shaky shrug._ _

__Standing behind her, Rhys wrapped an arm around her chest and kissed her hair. “You can’t save the world every day love.”_ _

__“Sometimes people are really shitty to each other, you know?” Gwen said, feeling the tears come again as she put down her fork. “It’s not about aliens and space junk – it’s about people just being bastards.” She covered her face with her hands as the tears flowed down her cheeks._ _

__“Not all of them,” Rhys said quietly._ _

__“No.”_ _

__She turned and buried herself into Rhys who simply hugged her without speaking; understanding, as always._ _


	5. Chapter 5

With much inching back and forth and heaving on the steering wheel, Claire finally managed to squeeze her car into the last available space outside the lab. This never happened to Ken, who had his own space reserved right outside the lab doors. Wondering how long she would have to work there to get her own space, she stepped out of the car and inspected her handiwork. The car was at a strange angle but inside the lines. The joys of owning a hatchback. And with Tim’s debts she wasn’t likely to be upgrading anytime soon.

A man was walking across the car park. Claire smiled at his outfit – a trilby and tweed suit – and wondered if she’d accidentally time-travelled to one of those 1950s’ police dramas where everyone had anachronistically modern views and lived in low-beamed cottages. Fumbling in her handbag for the car keys she had stupidly put away before locking the car, she was surprised to look back up and find him standing in front of her. Up close, he was too young for his clothes, she realised, and his eyes were cold.

“Dr Turner?” he enquired.

“Yes,” Claire said.

“Dr Chaney.” He held out a hand.

Claire looked at it, hesitating, thoughts flooding her mind. She didn’t trust this man though she didn’t know why. How did he know her name? Why was he dressed like that? Reluctantly, she took his hand and shook it. In an instant, it was as though a surge of pleasure had run up her arm and settled over her whole body. The calmness washed over her; she couldn’t remember the last time she felt this relaxed. She smiled widely. “How can I help you?”

“Well, actually, I think we can help each other,” Chaney said, still grasping her hand.

“In what way?” Claire asked with open curiosity.

“Your partner,” Chaney replied. “He has debts.”

“Who are you?” Claire asked.

Chaney finally let go of her hand and stared at her. She looked into those eyes. They didn’t seem so cold now – just deep. She relaxed a little further.

“A friend, I suppose,” Chaney said. “With the money to help you get your furniture back.”

Claire laughed giddily. “You’re going to pay Tim’s debts?”

“Yes.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“There is a little favour you can do me,” Chaney explained.

“What’s that?” Claire asked.

“Get Torchwood out of the way. Stop them investigating the rapes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m offering you the money to keep your relationship together.”

Claire considered this. Chaney seemed so trustworthy. She didn’t know why she had ever doubted him. Such a kind man. Had they met before? She couldn’t recall but it didn’t seem to be important. She wanted the money and nothing else mattered. “How much?”

Chaney removed a blank cheque from inside his jacket. “How much do you need?”

“Why do you want Torchwood out of the way?” The question tugged at the edge of Claire’s mind, like a slight, discomforting itch but nothing too bothersome.

“You’ve got a blank cheque – does it matter?”

Chaney fixed her with those fathomless eyes again. Cold but deep. _Like an ocean_ , her brain supplied and she had to suppress another giggle. He was right – it didn’t matter. She could pay off Tim’s debts and get her favourite sideboard back.

She laughed breezily. “No – I suppose it doesn’t.” She took the cheque. “Thank you.”

“And you’ll deal with Torchwood?”

“Yes,” Claire agreed, grinning at the cheque in her fingers. “How should I…?”

“However you want.”

He stared at her again, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Claire felt her own eyes close too. God – when had she last felt this happy? Everything was going to be ok. She and Tim could go back to the way they’d been before. She laughed again. “Ok. Consider it done.”

*

“Morning Anita,” Ianto called brightly, passing the resident mental health nurse on her way to her office as he walked briskly down the corridor with his arms full of files.

“Morning Ianto,” she called back.

Ianto’s stride didn’t falter until she was safely ensconced in her office with the door shut. He stopped, took a few paces back and ducked into Chaney’s office. He’d checked the schedules under cover of sorting Brenda’s Outlook calendar problem earlier so he knew Chaney was consulting at the local surgery until eleven.

Ianto put the pile of files down on the corner of the virtually empty desk and looked around. Searching empty rooms always set him on edge with a mixture of thrill and dread. The same way he’d felt as a sneaky ten-year-old searching Rhiannon’s room for her teenage diaries, honing his secret agent skills. They’d turned out to be less juicy and more dull than he’d hoped.

Chaney’s shelves were orderly – not necessarily a bad sign in Ianto’s opinion – and the only thing on the walls was a framed certificate from the University of Cardiff. Ianto peered at it suspiciously. The background check he’d run on Chaney did say he’d been to Cardiff Uni. Everything in his record stood up to scrutiny.

The only other decoration in the office was a pot plant on the window sill. Ianto flicked a leaf suspiciously. Plastic. He tried the desk drawers but they were locked. Not a problem for Torchwood. He removed his sonic lock-picker (still, irritatingly, unnamed) from his pocket and opened the top drawer. It was full of neatly arranged stationery. The next one contained a diary. Ianto took it out and flipped through the pages. Nothing but patient appointments. Frustrated, he put it back in the drawer and locked them.

He had just picked up his stack of files when the door opened. Ianto tried to disguise his guilty jump back from the desk.

“What the hell are you doing in my office?” Chaney demanded icily.

“These files.” Ianto waved them, heart thudding. “I just wanted to check – are they discharged? It – uh – wasn’t clear from the computer records.”

Chaney snatched the files without replying and shuffled through them. “I discharged these patients months ago.” He handed them back.

“Excellent. Thank you,” Ianto said. “Just wanted to make sure before I put them on the system. I’ll get out of your hair.”

He left as quickly as he could without arousing further suspicion. Back in his office, he put the files on the desk and sat down, musing over his encounter with Chaney. He took out his mobile and called Jack.

“Ianto?”

“I was just in Chaney’s office,” Ianto told him. “There’s definitely something dodgy about this guy.”

“Like what?”

“He’s very – neat.”

“And that makes someone suspicious?”

Ianto could hear the teasing tone in Jack's voice and chose to ignore it. “His record,” he said. “It’s too perfect. There are no loop holes. No gaps. It’s like something I could have created. And his office – there’s nothing personal there. It doesn’t feel right.”

“You want to bring him in?” Jack asked.

“For what?”

“Exactly. Look, it’s a waste of Torchwood time having you there. I want to pull you out unless you can find something concrete.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Good.”

Jack hung up, leaving Ianto to his frustrated thoughts. He got out the schedule he’d printed earlier. Chaney would be at the Community Mental Health Centre until two, when he would be leaving for another surgery consultation. Ianto sensed a plan falling into place.

At quarter to two, he stood in reception searching through one of the filing cabinets behind Carol’s desk. He mindlessly shuffled the files back and forth, his skills of becoming unnoticed around the office working like a charm. Chaney emerged from a side corridor and left without even a glance in Ianto’s direction.

Ianto hastily slid the filing cabinet drawer shut and walked quickly back to his office. He picked up his phone and dialled.

“He’s leaving,” he said and abruptly hung up.

*

Chaney unlocked his Mercedes – if he was going to be stranded on this godforsaken planet, he would at least do it in style – and got in. As he pulled out of his space and eased out of the small car park, he spotted a small blue hatchback pulling out from another space. A few twists and turns and detours later, he was certain that the car was following him.

Pulling up outside the GP surgery, he took out his phone. “Cooper is following me,” he said. “Get rid of her.”

*

After a circuitous and unfathomable journey, Gwen sat in her car and watched Chaney disappear into the GP surgery. As she was getting out of her car and crossing the road, her phone rang. Gwen slid it out of her pocket and ducked around the corner, out of sight of the reception desk, to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Gwen, it’s Claire. I’ve got something you need to see, down at the morgue.”

“What is it?” Gwen queried.

“You’ll have to come down and see it.” Claire sounded a little breathless.

“I’m a bit busy right now,” Gwen told her. “I’ll try and stop by later.”

“No,” Claire insisted. “It can’t wait. It might be too late. You need to come now.”

Gwen paused. There was something in Claire's tone that was making her uneasy. The pathologist sounded panicked; spooked, even. “Ok. I’m on my way.”

*

“I just had to get you to see this,” Claire told Gwen as she led her into the autopsy lab.

Taking Gwen over to a body on a table, she pulled back the sheet to reveal the corpse of the young girl from the other night. Gwen peered over at it.

“What am I looking at?” Gwen asked.

This was her chance, Claire realised, as she stood behind Gwen. It had been so surprisingly easy to get Gwen here and now she had her chance. Grabbing the first thing that came to hand, she smashed Gwen on the back of the head with a fire extinguisher. Gwen let out a small squeak of protest before slumping awkwardly to the floor.

Claire stared at her in horror. What had she done? A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye made her look up at the security camera. Ken was coming through reception. Claire dropped the fire extinguisher with a clang and knelt down beside Gwen. Pushing two fingers into Gwen’s neck, she was relieved to find a weak pulse. Ken would be in the lift by now.

With her chest heaving and heart hammering, Claire dragged Gwen to the only hiding place she could think of. She hefted Gwen into one of drawers and slammed it shut. Hastily, she pulled the sheet back over the body, shoved the fire extinguisher back in its cradle on the wall and fought back the tears. What the hell was she supposed to do now?


	6. Chapter 6

Gwen was extremely cold; freezing, even. As she opened her eyes and slowly regained consciousness, a blinding pain in the back of her skull joined the sensation. It was pitch black in front of her eyes. She tried to sit and smacked her forehead on something cold and hard. Reaching out with her hands, she assessed the tiny, confined space around her.

Panic shot to every extremity as she realised she couldn’t move more than a few inches in each direction. She was so damn cold. She shouted and thumped her fists against the metal above her head, remembering and realising what had happened and taking a guess at where she was. As she took a breath to fill her lungs and yell for help again, she began to wonder if these things were airtight.

Suddenly, light flooded in and she found herself rolling forward. Jack’s face grinned down at her.

“Careful," he said. "You’ll wake the neighbours with all that racket.”

Gwen's teeth were chattering too much for her to tell him where to shove his smartarse comment. Jack helped her down from the drawer, hastily removing his coat and wrapping it round her. He added big, warm arms, hugging her tightly.

“What happened?” Gwen asked eventually when her jaw had unfrozen.

“Claire,” Jack told her. “Ianto did another check of Chaney’s records. He paid Claire a hefty amount yesterday. Ianto’s retconning her as we speak. Nice job telling us where you were going.”

“Learnt my lesson,” Gwen admitted.

“I’m glad.” He rubbed furiously at her arms to warm her up.

“I’m sorry,” Gwen said. “You were right. I should have retconned her the first time around.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.” Jack pulled back and took a good look at her. “You ok?”

Gwen rubbed the back of her head. “A sore head, bit chilly and wounded pride. I’ll live.”

“Good.” Jack put an arm around her shoulders and began to guide her out of the morgue. “Come on - let's defrost you properly and get you checked out for concussion.”

*

“So – let’s run through what we know,” Jack began as Gwen and Ianto took their places at the boardroom table. Although Jack had tried to take her to hospital, Gwen had knocked back some industrial strength painkillers and discharged herself when the triage nurse told them it would be a three hour wait. Other than the extra layers she was now wearing, there were no signs of her earlier experience. “Chaney paid Claire to get Torchwood off his case. He seems to have some kind of miracle cure for depression but the patients don’t remember what it was.”

“And one of the murder victims was his patient,” Gwen added.

“That’s the only link,” Jack noted. “I’m not convinced the cases are related.”

“So what do we do?” Ianto asked. “Haul him in for questioning?”

“For what?” Gwen asked. “Curing people of depression? It’s hardly the worst thing an alien’s done in Cardiff.”

“Emotions make us who we are, depression and all,” Ianto blurted forcefully. “They’re all chemicals in the brain, aren’t they? Change them, change the way the nerves fire – are we really the same person?”

“You’re a bit gloomy today,” Gwen commented.

“Sorry,” Ianto apologised quickly, eyes down on his hands with an expression Jack recognised well. The expression that showed Ianto felt he’d said too much; given a little too much of himself away. Jack looked at him with concern but Ianto wouldn’t meet his eye.

“Where does that leave us?” Gwen asked, seemingly oblivious. “Next steps?”

Jack thought about it. “Go to his flat,” he told her. “Search it. Anything you can find. Both of you. And watch out for vengeful pathologists wielding fire extinguishers.”

Gwen poked her tongue out at him as she stood to leave. Ianto got up, eyes still down, and followed her from the room. Jack watched them until they disappeared down the stairs. Jack knew that Ianto had suffered from depression after Lisa died. He also knew that they’d never really talked about it properly – just shagged each other senseless instead. But Ianto was happy now, wasn’t he? Maybe Jack was reading too much into his comment.

To distract himself from further analysis, he headed down to the evidence room that Gwen had set up. He stood in front of the board with his hands in his pockets, eyes roaming over the photographs and notes pinned to it. He gaze came to rest on the suspected weapon - long, thin and barbed. Puncturing the internal organs.

Jack took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had seen it before. There was no use denying it.

**5091, Time Agency HQ**

_Javic Piotr Thane bounded down the drab Time Agency corridors. Before he signed up, he had somehow imagined a slightly more glamorous workplace. Instead, he found himself working in a throwback to some long-distant Earth era, with beige walls and dusty fake pot plants and a shocking lack of windows._

_He broke into a broad smile as he spotted Lotty emerging from the lift. She was in full uniform, not a button out of place as usual, and boy did she fill it well. Javic was a little more – avant garde – with his dress code._

_“Hey!” Javic called, still smiling._

_“Hey!” she replied, greeting him with a kiss when they reached one another. “Good mission?”_

_“So-so,” Javic shrugged. “I got you a present.” He handed over a heart shaped box of chocolates._

_“Chocolates?” Lotty asked, amused._

_“I was in the 22nd century,” Javic explained._

_“Such a romantic,” Lotty teased._

_“It’s a thank you."_

_“For what?”._

_“My mother loved you, and I know she did, because she called me to tell me, and my mother never calls me.”_

_Javic had been the dutiful son the first few months after he left to join the Time Agency, calling home every fortnight, but the phone calls had been so filled with awkward silence that eventually he stopped. Taking Lotty home to meet her had been a big step. The biggest breakthrough in their strained relationship since he came home to find his mother weeping over his father’s corpse._

_Since that horrific day, every time Javic looked into his mother’s haunted eyes he saw the ghosts in them; with every tired chastising he saw her become a little more absent. At sixteen, Javic had finally snapped and found himself yelling, “I’m alive! I’m alive Mom!” She couldn’t even answer him. A week later, he convinced his best friend to run off with him to fight a war simply because he could._

_“You’re welcome,” Lotty said, dragging his attention back to the present and more pleasant matters. She took his hand as they began to walk down the corridor. Expressions of affection between agents during work hours were strictly forbidden but everyone flouted the rules. “Anyway, me and John were talking last night. What do you want to do for your birthday?”_

_“What?”_

_“Come on baby,” she said. “It’s your 21st - you have to do something.”_

_Javic frowned. “No, I meant what were you doing with John?”_

_Lotty shrugged. “I thought we said it was ok to sleep with other people.”_

_“Not him.” Javic felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t trust him.”_

_Lotty snorted incredulously, coming to a halt and dropping his hand. She turned to face him. “You sleep with him.”_

_“I don’t trust him with you,” Javic expanded, knowing it sounded lame even to him._

_“I can handle him,” Lotty said, folding her arms defiantly._

_“I don’t want you to see him again,” Javic blurted._

_“Excuse me?”_

_“I don’t want you to see him again,” Javic repeated. “He’s bad news.”_

_“For God’s sake,” Lotty snapped. “You are such a petty, jealous outdated loser.” She thrust the chocolates back at him. “Keep your stupid chocolates.”_

_Javic watched her go with his heart sinking. “Lotty!”_

_He called and called but she never picked up. He left messages apologising, begging, pleading. In one, he told her that he loved her. He fell into a perpetual state of gloom. He knew the other agents were whispering about him behind his back – Javic Thane, the country boy from the backwater colony, falls in love and falls hard; too young and too small-minded to handle a woman like Lotty Riorghan._

_He laughed it off at work. Presented himself as sullen, hard and uncaring. When he got home, he drank, read poetry and watched millennia-old films that he’d stolen from the agency archives because the plots seemed to make more sense to him than the mini-movies that Planet Hollywood churned out now. And then, he would call Lotty again. It was his nightly ritual._

_Finally, after three weeks, she picked up. “Stop calling me,” she said without greeting._

_“No, wait,” Javic pleaded. “I really am sorry. Look, I’ll prove it you. Meet me tonight, by the corner of the park. Please? Give me another chance?”_

_Lotty sighed. “Ok, fine.”_

_“8 o’clock,” Javic told her. “Promise you’ll be there?”_

_“Sure.” She hung up._

_At 8 o’clock that night, Javic waited by the corner of the park, suited and booted, swinging the keys to a space cruiser he had borrowed from a friend and carrying opal lilies. He checked his watch. She was late. Ok – she was playing it cool, making him sweat. That was fine. He could wait._

_By 9pm, she still hadn’t showed. The lilies were beginning to wilt and Jack felt uncomfortably sweaty in his suit. If he thought his mood couldn’t worsen, it took a nosedive when John arrived on the scene._

_John and Javic had been partnered a couple of times when John’s partner had been off sick. There were rumours going around the agency that the bosses thought they worked well together and they would be permanently partnered. John was only a year older than Javic but he acted as though he had decades more experience, at work and in the bedroom. It was probably true._

_“Been stood up?” John asked, lounging against the side of the cruiser with an insufferable smirk on his face._

_“Get lost.”_

_“Could you look any more ridiculous?”_

_“Could you be any more annoying?” Javic countered._

_John’s smirk broadened to a full-on smug grin. “Face it, honey, she’s not coming.”_

_Javic looked down sadly at his flowers but couldn’t bring himself to admit that John might be right._

_“You know I’m right,” John said, as if reading his thoughts. “Why don’t you come back with me? I’m in the mood for a bit of anguished rebound sex.”_

_“Fine.” Javic threw down the flowers. “I’ll give you a ride.”_

_They climbed into the cruiser and Javic started the engine. John managed to find some terrible music on the media chip and produced an antiquated hip flask from under his jacket. No doubt a little souvenir from one of his trips into the past. Javic kept his eyes on the roadways and ignored the man lounging in his passenger seat. Lotty’s betrayal weighed cold in his stomach._

_Turning the last corner onto the throughway that would lead them to John’s place, they hit a road block. The street was crawling with police vehicles and uniformed officers. Flashing lights filled the night._

_“Just head on up and over,” John told him._

_“In front of half the city’s police?” Javic said. “You’re an idiot.”_

_He killed the engine and got out of the cruiser, walking over to the cordon._

_A silver-uniformed officer stopped him. “You can’t go through there sir.”_

_“I’m a Time Agent,” Javic said, flashing his ID._

_“This is a murder scene,” the officer told him._

_Javic peered through the bodies and cars and officers and caught a glimpse of the corpse. That ankle. That tattoo. He knew it. He'd recognise it anywhere._

_“Lotty!”_

_He ducked under the tape. The police officers protested but he shrugged them off and rushed up to the body. Lotty. So much blood. Her face – more beautiful and peaceful than he had ever seen it. Javic felt the cry arrive before it emerged from his mouth, raw and anguished, as he sunk to his knees beside her._

Jack stood in the Hub, lost in his memories, tears streaming down his face. How could he ever have forgotten? Angrily wiping at his eyes, Jack set his jaw and strode out of the Hub.


	7. Chapter 7

Chaney’s flat was as neatly ordered as his office. Not a thing out of place. Ianto opened a cupboard in the kitchen and found it empty. Suspicious, he tried the next cupboard. Also empty. All the cupboards were empty. He checked the small fridge freezer – empty.

“No food,” Ianto observed. “Not even milk. Just this." He picked up a lonely bottle of cabernet suavignon from the kitchen surface.

Gwen peered at the label. "That's the wine he bought that night I followed him."

"Untouched."

They moved onto the bedroom where they found clothes in his wardrobe and a bed which, although well made, betrayed slight creases of sheets that had been slept on. In the bathroom, they found shaving foam, razors and shower gel but, Ianto noted, no toilet roll.

“So he sleeps and shaves but doesn’t excrete,” Ianto surmised.

“Most people would say ‘take a dump’,” Gwen pointed out.

"I'm trying to keep this professional," Ianto responded witheringly.

Gwen sunk down onto Chaney's sumptuous black leather sofa. She shifted about and pulled a face. "I hate leather. Too sweaty."

Ianto perched on the arm of a matching armchair. "Maybe he doesn't sweat either."

Gwen leant back into the cushions and Ianto could see her turning over the evidence they'd found in the flat in her mind. "Ok - so the guy doesn't eat or drink hence not _excreting_. He paid Claire to get rid of me and he discharges his patients after one appointment, apparently cured of depression. Am I missing anything?"

Ianto shook his head. "What next?"

Gwen spread her hands, having, presumably, reached the same dead end that Ianto had. "We go and pay him a visit."

*

"This way," Ianto stage whispered, managing to dodge Brenda and Carol as he led Gwen down the corridor to Chaney's office.

He and Gwen stood either side of the door and looked at one another. They hadn't exactly thought this part through. Ianto tried to communicate something to Gwen with his eyes but she had no idea what it was. Should they go in guns blazing? What was Ianto trying to signal? In the end, he gave up and rapped softly on the door.

There was no response from within and no sounds could be discerned.

Ianto knocked again. Still no response.

Slowly, he twisted the door handle and they stepped into the office. Chaney was behind his desk, an orgasmic, blissed-out expression on his face that almost managed to warm his harsh features. A middle-aged woman sat across from him, staring into his eyes. Breathing deeply, Chaney drew a stream of energy from the woman that crackled and fizzed in the air as it twisted and writhed its way towards his flaring nostrils. 

“Get out, get out!” Gwen yelled, grabbing the woman and wrenching her gaze away from Chaney’s. Gwen didn’t give her a chance to ask questions as she thrust her handbag into her arms and ejected her, stumbling, from the room.

“Torchwood,” Chaney greeted them, snapped immediately out of his daze, ice settling once more over his demeanour. “Undeterred I see.”

“You have to stop this,” Gwen told him.

“Why?” Chaney asked, spreading his hands and smiling thinly. “I’m doing good here.”

“A nice cover story,” Gwen said. “But we know about the women you killed.” She had no evidence but she knew; she just knew - it was him. He had done it.

“I have to survive somehow.” Chaney didn't even bother to deny it.

“That’s sick,” Gwen snapped.

“Is it?” Chaney stared at her blankly. “I feed off their fear. I need it to survive.”

“What?”

“Negative emotions,” Chaney explained. “They’re what I eat, to put it in your terms.”

“So that’s what you do here?” Ianto questioned. “You take their negative emotions?”

“Yes,” Chaney confirmed. “A public service if you will.”

“Then why do you need to rape and murder?” Gwen asked.

“A little bit of low level depression – that’s all well and good,” Chaney explained. “But the fear when a woman’s being raped, when she thinks she’s going to die – that’s the good stuff." He grinned and bared his perfect white teeth. False, Gwen suddenly realised. Of course - an alien who feeds on emotion doesn't need teeth. "And men – my goodness!" Chaney continued. "The fear, the guilt, the shame - that’s the finest dining.”

“Those are people you’re talking about,” Gwen reminded him angrily.

Chaney shrugged. “An unfortunate consequence.”

“You have to leave,” Gwen told him. “Torchwood won’t allow you to stay here.”

He sat back in his chair, fingers steepled. “But I can’t leave,” he said. “This planet, this city, this time – it’s the perfect place. So much dissatisfaction with your lives. Everyone angry all the time – with each other, with the government. Everyone cheating and lying and depressed. When Wales lose a match at the Millennium Stadium there’s enough anger to keep me going for weeks. God, there’s even negativity in this room.”

He looked straight at Ianto and smiled cruelly. “He’s going to leave me; he’s going to forget me.” He cocked his head on one side. “Oh, and that’s interesting – two people died, and you somehow feel responsible.”

“Stop it,” Ianto snapped.

“Leave him alone,” Gwen ordered.

Chaney turned to her. “And you. Guilt. Jealousy. Grief." He snapped together those perfect teeth again. "The pair of you are quite the little buffet.”

“Stop it.” Gwen could feel herself growing happier, more relaxed. She was starting not to care about what Chaney was doing. “Emotions make us who we are. Take all that away and we’re just robots.”

“You feel happier already, don’t you?” Chaney asked.

“Stop it!” Gwen yelled.

A crash and the door burst open as Jack came charging in. He didn't seem to even register Gwen and Ianto's presence as he came to stand in front of Chaney's desk. “I remember you,” Jack snarled at Chaney. “And you’re not getting away with it this time.” His gun was out, his lip curled in that animalistic way that terrified Gwen.

“Jack – what are you doing?” Gwen queried.

Without another word, Jack shot Chaney between the eyes.

The small office rang with reverberations of the gunshot, shaking the silence. Chaney’s chair held his body upright as a thin trickle of purplish blood ran down his forehead and onto his aquiline nose. Gwen could taste the tang of cordite in the air, sharp and sweet, like nail varnish remover and unique to Jack's Webley. As Jack reholstered his gun, Gwen saw tears in his eyes.

“What did you do that for?” Gwen asked, aghast.

“Justice,” Jack said, his voice hoarse. “A few thousand years too late.”

He turned tail and marched out of the office. Gwen stared at Chaney's body, sitting in the chair as though he were waiting to receive his next patient. Beside her, Ianto's expression was unreadable, the only outward sign of emotion his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. Gwen rubbed a hand over her eyes. The painkillers were wearing off and her head was beginning to throb again. What the hell had just happened?

*

Gwen leant against the neighbouring drawers as Ianto stashed Chaney’s body into the vaults. “Heard anything from Jack?” she asked.

Ianto shook his head without looking up from his clipboard.

Gwen looked at Ianto carefully. “What he said – Chaney – back there…”

“We all have our fears,” Ianto assured her quickly, though she noticed his grip on the biro he was writing with grew a little tighter.

“I wish I could say something,” Gwen said.

Ianto looked up with a tight smile. “Go home to your handsome husband Gwen,” he replied.

“Hands off Ianto.” It was a tired joke and Gwen knew it but Ianto still smiled politely.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Ianto said.

“Yeah.”

She took one last look back at him and walked off. Ianto finished filling out the paperwork and pushed the drawer closed, sealing it. Taking out his mobile, he scrolled down to Rhiannon’s name, finger hovering over the call button before he changed his mind and shoved it back into his pocket. He had an incident report to write.

*

Jack stood on the rooftop of the Millenium Centre, gazing out over Cardiff Bay. The evening was still and snatches of conversation drifted up from the Plass below him. His eyes didn't see the racing yachts and tourist cruisers making the most of the fading September sunshine. His eyes saw three thousand years into the future; a thousand years into his past. That half-remembered feeling of being in love and not knowing the future - not knowing that he would live whilst they would always die - simmered inside him.

How many ghosts would he leave behind? How many would come back to haunt him? His own daughter couldn't stand to be around him; her child would grow to hate him too. Tosh and Owen and Suzie were already gone; dead because of him. One day Gwen would be gone too. And Ianto. What would he do when Ianto was gone? The first person to love Jack despite knowing his secret. The others had all pushed him away when they found out - repulsed or terrified by his immortality - but not Ianto.

Ianto, who had not pushed, or questioned, or pried today. Ianto, who had removed Chaney's body, dealt with the fallout at the mental health centre and fed false reports to the police to tie up the loose ends in the rape cases, all without admonishment. Ianto, who would, at this very moment, be typing up an incident report which would leave out the unprofessional personal vendetta of Torchwood Three's leader and replace it with vague statements about threats that could not be contained.

Tomorrow, Gwen would demand answers from Jack and Jack would close up because Gwen didn't get every part of him, no matter how much she felt entitled to it. But Ianto? Ianto deserved an explanation.

When Jack got back to the Hub, Ianto was, as he had predicted, sitting at his desk and typing furiously. He glanced up briefly when the cog door rolled back but said nothing and went back to his report. Jack came to stand beside him, hovering nervously. Eventually, Ianto paused and looked up at him, a questioning expression in those blue, blue eyes.

Jack took a deep, shaky breath. "Ianto - can we talk?"

*

Rhys was sitting on the sofa watching television when Gwen got home. It was such an ordinary sight, so comfortable and familiar – Rhys slumped down, shirt ruffled, cup of tea cradled against his stomach. He was watching a cookery show of all things; one of those travel-come-cooking shows where the overly cheerful chef threw ingredients into a pan with the carelessness of a child mixing paint, perched on some Mediterranean clifftop.

Rhys looked up at the sound of the door closing. “Alright love?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Gwen sighed.

“Another tough day,” he surmised.

“Sort of.” She sat down beside him and he put his arm around her. She breathed in deep the comforting smells of home and Rhys and tea. “Thank you,” she said after a while.

“For what?” Rhys asked, a pleased but bemused expression wrinkling his forehead.

“Being you,” Gwen told him. “Being so – uncomplicated.”

Rhys scoffed. “Boring, you mean?”

“No. Never.” Gwen tilted her head up to look at him. “I love you Rhys Williams. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Good job you’ll never have to find out then, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to – do something tonight?” he asked. “It’s early.”

“I want to sit on this sofa and watch crappy TV and drink tea.”

Rhys laughed. “I think that can be arranged.” He was already on his feet, heading for the kettle. Her hero.

“Good,” Gwen said.


End file.
